


My saddle's waiting

by agamous (apetala)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, Magic Mike XXL AU, Special guests for Rome and Amber Heards character, Starring Cris as a huge fan of Ginuwine's Pony, Stripper AU, The Author Regrets Nothing, This movie was the best movie of 2015 and I'll fight anyone who says otherwise, and Sergio Ramos as Big Dick Rick, i guess, sad exes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2016-06-23
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:11:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7278517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apetala/pseuds/agamous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cristiano Ronaldo is known by some people by a different name.</p><p>Some people call him Magic. Magic Ronnie.</p><p> </p><p>The Magic Mike XXL AU no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The break up was clean.

 

The days after it however, were brutal.

 

Cristiano could barely remember any of it. There was of course the stunned hour after, when all he could do was sit on the bench alongside the beach, staring at the sea. The sunset was incredible, lavender and hibiscus pink clouds streaking the clouds. The wind gently brushed through his hair. The murmur of the surf.

 

It was the perfect scene for a romantic gesture, _the_ romantic gesture.

 

And Irina had said no.

 

When he finally managed to peel his numb self off the bench and head back into the house, he had a vague sense of hope that she was still there. That he could possibly see her, talk to her, though he hated that he even had hope after how she said no.

 

But the house was empty and still—no laughter, no clatter of glasses, no patter of feet. His mother and his son were having dinner at his sister’s house that night.

 

He opened the freezer to find the Ben and Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream he had bought a week ago. To find a post-it note on the top of the lid, Irina’s blocky sprawl written across it.

 

“Babe, let’s _not_ get fat together, yeah? XOXO”

 

Cristiano could only roll his eyes, throw the note away, and dig his biggest, heftiest spoon into the gallon tub.

 

* * *

 

 

Yes, Cristiano missed dancing. Male entertaining, so to speak.

 

He missed it so much.

 

He missed the adrenaline rush when he knew that he had absolutely killed a move, and when the audience screamed so loud that his ears rang after. He loved that slow change on a girl’s face throughout a performance—from embarrassed disbelief with a hint of condescension, to plain embarrassment during audience participation, to a screaming, shaking joy when he nailed the climax of his set, so to speak.

 

It was an unbelievable time.

 

And he missed his friends too.

 

He really missed having people to commiserate with. As much as he loved his son, and could spend hours playing football with him and his stuffed animals, he still longed for his old friends to talk to, get his mind off things.

 

 _But I don’t_. Cristiano thought to himself, throughout his daily hustle as a small-time contractor. _And I need to focus right now._

 

His son, his mother, his siblings needed him right now. And if Cristiano made up routines on his work tables with a little spontaneous bit with a electric drill, well, no one was the wiser.

 

* * *

 

 

The call came during one of his jobs, sticky and sweaty from the Florida heat while halfway through moving unbelievably heavy oak furniture to the back of his truck.

 

He rested his body against the warm metal door, wiping the sweat from his eyes, and frowning at the unknown number that had left a voicemail. Cristiano hadn’t picked up the call, thinking it was a telemarketer. But telemarketers usually didn’t leave messages, so he opened it to listen.

 

A few seconds of gravelly silence. And then—

 

“Cris!” A voice spoke cheerfully,

 

and Cristiano suddenly couldn’t breathe, eyes wide, as he heard Marcelo’s voice for the first time in two years.

 

“—number off the Internet, hope it’s the right one. I’m calling about Benitez. He passed away, Cris, I’m sorry. The funeral and the wake’s going to be at Orlando, hope you can make it.”

 

Marcelo went on to rattle off an address, and the voicemail ended, and Cristiano could only stare at the phone, stunned because here he was, trying to leave the past behind, and now it had leapt straight into his path, and not snarling and angry. Friendly.

* * *

 

 

Cristiano had gone straight home after the job. There wasn’t any appointments for the next few days anyways, so he’d sent his employee home as well. He could only feverishly pack, while telling his mom at the same time so that she could take care of Junior.

 

“You’re going where?” She had asked in confusion, as Cristiano tried to find a clean dress shirt that still fit him.

 

“Orlando, mama. It’s for a funeral.”

 

Her brow furrowed as Junior began to ask for the hundredth time if he could come too. “Please, dad? You’re always saying that your friends could show me how to do a bicycle kick one day!”

 

Cristiano yanked a fairly not-horrible shirt from the dresser. “I’m not going for fun. It’s for a funeral. You have to stay with grandma and go to school tomorrow.” He dropped a kiss on Junior’s head.

 

Junior scrunched up his face in horror and ran off. He was starting to get to that age where any signs of physical affection from his father embarrassed him. Cristiano sighed, hands stilled for a moment, remembering. Junior used to be so _little_. He used to be a squirmy little toddler who always ran to meet his father with starry eyes. Now he was living and breathing football and going to school.

 

Cristiano loved his son dearly, but he also felt loss as Junior grew up, inexorably and quickly. He felt older, and a bit left behind. Like his best days were already behind him.

 

His mother must have noticed the look in his eyes. Instead of arguing, or trying to root out further about why exactly he was dropping his business for a few days to visit the wake of an old boss that he hadn’t ended on the best of terms on, she sighed and remained silent. She upturned his duffel bag, muttering about how men never knew what to pack, and shooed him out of the bedroom.

 

When Cristiano left, he carried a shoulder bag packed with essentials, and a huge Tupperware full of roast chicken and broccoli courtesy of his mother. A hundred miles out, he was digging around the messy passenger seat for a water bottle when his hand found something soft, and he pulled out Junior’s teddy bear, with a note attached to its tummy.

 

_Be safe dad I love you_

_Hugs hugs and hugs from Junior_

_PS--If you don’t bring people home to teach me don’t come back._

* * *

 

Cristiano drove into the address Google sent him, a dingy blue motel that advertised pool access. It was a part of Orlando that wasn’t taken up by Disneyworld, the hotel windows barred with whitewashed iron grills. The people strolled around in beach trunks and bikinis. Fourth of July weekend was creeping up, and there were a lot of flags waving in people’s front doors and trailing behind their trucks in surreally vivid colors.

 

Parking, he took a deep breath to calm himself.

 

He hadn’t really gotten along with Benitez, particularly by the end of their professional relationship when things had gotten heated. Their entertainment group wasn’t winning the stripping competitions anymore, and Cristiano hadn’t kept secret that he considered Benitez’s ass-in-head tactics to blame. The Twilight routine that Benitez had dreamed up was their lowest point, in Cristiano’s opinion. That, combined with Cristiano dating Irina at the time, ended up being the end of Cristiano’s time as a male entertainer. Leaving so abruptly, he hadn’t really even said his goodbyes properly to his friends.

 

Whom he’d see today, in the worst of circumstances.

 

He took another breath, and opened the door of his truck.

 

He walked in to the motel front desk.

 

“Excuse me, I’m here for the wake?”

 

The front desk receptionist looked up, bleary eyed and confused. “There’s no wake here…?”

 

Before Cristiano could stutter out a question, or an apology, he heard someone open a door in the hallway, and the loud blare of music and splashing and cheering drifted into the echoes of the reception hall.

 

“…Never mind, I think I hear them.” Cristiano smiled, trying to placate the woman while edging his way to the door. She looked at him rather warily as he dropped out of view.

 

Walking down the hallway, facing a pool churning with people laughing, Cristiano didn’t quite know what to think. But he did know, somehow, that all that noise could only be from one cause.

 

A girl shouldered past him in a motorcycle helmet and an orange sherbet bikini. She barreled through the door, screaming, and leapt into the pool to a chorus of cheers.

 

Christiano caught the door after her, and looked out.

 

A pool, small but deep, helmet girl swimming and screaming as other people in tubes were rocked by the waves.

 

The sun was dazzlingly bright, and the music was now so loud he could feel the bass in his toes.

 

Which was why Cristiano had no idea who was creeping up behind him, arms out.

 

“CRIS, YOU CAME!” A great voice roared in Cristiano ears, as huge arms wrapped around his chest from behind him and picked him up as easily as a child.

 

“CRIS IS HERE!” Sergio Ramos dressed only in a towel bellowed to the chairs behind him, who lifted their drinks in the air to cheer enthusiastically.   


“Put me down!” Cristiano shoved against Sergio, but his grip was like iron. And in the struggle, somehow Sergio’s towel got loose and fluttered to the concrete ground.

 

Sergio shrugged to the boos (and wolf whistles). “TIME FOR THE POOL”

 

“Shit, Sergio, put me down, I’m wearing a suit, NO DON’T DO IT—“

 

Without a second glance, Sergio jumped into the pool, Cris and all.

 

* * *

 

 

Cris came up for air, spitting mad.

 

“OH MY GOD.” And then

 

“I hate you Sergio Ramos, why isn’t this your funeral.”

 

Sergio laughed and hugged Cristiano to his chest. His huge chest, Cristiano noticed.

 

“I didn’t think you’d actually come! We thought you were all happy with your new life!” He dropped an affectionate kiss on Cristiano’s neck.

 

“God, I wish I died on the way here. Ramos, this suit was _tailored_.”

 

Ramos’s eyes grew sad and big, and he began to pout. “Are you not happy to see me?”

 

Cristiano tried, he really tried to hold onto his temper, but he could never resist kicked puppy Sergio and he knew it. “Okay, yes, I’m very glad to see you. Also, are you bigger or am I going crazy?”

 

Sergio grinned hugely. “Protein shakes and crossfit, baby. I’ve upgraded from a twink to a twunk.”

 

“More of a twank right now than anything else.” Cristiano sniped, gesturing at Sergio’s naked waist.

 

“Look at my guns and say that to my face.” Sergio swiveled and flexed to show off his arms. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

 

“Hey lovebirds!” Marcelo was now at the edge of the pool, laughing while struggling to hold his drink upright. “Get out and say hi to the rest of us.”

 

Cristiano climbed out and went right to Marcelo, giving his best friend the wettest, sloppiest pool water hug in the world. Marcelo didn’t hold back either, burying his face in Cristiano’s shoulder and holding on. They didn’t have to say anything, after all Cristiano’s fears.

 

When Cristiano peeled away from Marcelo, he saw the rest of the gang in the pool chairs. And swallowed.

 

Kaka was here.

 

He looked good, even with two years on him. But his demeanor was so different from the past. The man who studied him now did so with a neutral expression, eyes that showed no curiosity, or any other emotion.

 

He wasn’t the smiling, laughing Kaka of the past. The one who stole kisses in the ten seconds behind stage between their routines. The one who held his hand under restaurant tables during their group dinners after a successful night.

 

The one he’d left behind, in a cowardly phone call after he’d quit the club, in a shaky voice telling Kaka that he was so sorry, but that it was going to be Irina. To please forget Cristiano, and move on.

 

Cristiano dizzily turned to Marcelo, who was still talking. Grounding himself in someone safe, someone whom he did not completely and spectacularly burn bridges with.

 

Pepe walked up to Cristiano, and it was a relief for him to say hi and catch up, to avoid Kaka’s eyes.

 

“So what did you guys call me up for?” Cristiano asked, still in shock. “Where’s Benitez?”

 

Pepe scowled. “He’s gone, him and the kid. Benitez got an offer to open a new club in Spain, of all places. He took Bale with him, and now we’re out on our asses.”

 

“Marcelo told me he was dead.”

 

“…What?” Pepe howled in laughter, while Sergio punched Marcelo in the arm. “We told him to make sure you came, but _damn.”_

 

“It worked!” Marcelo argued while laughing, trying to fight off Sergio.

 

Kaka raised his beer. “To Benitez on the other side.” He said with a smile, but with a flat voice. His eyes were still resting on Cristiano’s face, who flushed at the scrutiny.

 

Sergio picked up a random cup from the table. “Fuck no, I’m not drinking to that. Think of something else.”

 

Kaka’s gaze didn’t feel accusatory, or even judgmental. And yet somehow, Cristiano burned all over with its weight. Without another thought, he also picked up an unopened beer at the same table.

 

“To old friends, then?”

 

Marcelo smiled and raised his cup. “That’s a good one.”

 

Everyone knocked their drinks together, and took a swallow. Everyone except Kaka.

* * *

 

 

“Remember that time Sergio took too much acid?” Marcelo said to Cristiano, who was fighting off the headbutts of helmet girl, who had simply followed them to their motel room, only to physically harass Cristiano.

 

“I don’t.” Sergio mumbled, in the middle of downing a beer. “I just remember waking up underneath a parked truck in the parking lot.”

 

“You also ruined my pans burning tortillas de patatas.” Cristiano replied. “I’ll remember as long as my expensive no-stick pans are black.”

 

“So how long are you guys here for?” Cristiano added, once the girl lost interest and started jumping on the bed instead.

 

“We’re just here for the day.” Pepe said from his comfortable spot on the other bed. “We’re going to Myrtle Beach for the stripper convention this weekend.”

 

Sergio stood up. “Like, we were talking about what to do after Benitez left. And for me, I want to go down in a blaze of glory. And I want to drown in a tsunami of dollar bills.” He smiled roguishly. “And other things, you know what I’m saying?”

 

Everyone groaned. “Sergio, shut up, everyone knows what you’re saying.”

 

“Every girl in the city knows by now you like eating ass. People across the Atlantic Ocean who’ve never met you know you like eating ass. Even my ninety year old grandma knows how you feel about ass.”

 

Sergio waggled his eyebrows. “Well, tell her I’m free for dinner on Wednesdays.”

 

Marcelo threw a pillow at Sergio’s head to a chorus of everyone’s groans.

 

“Anyways. We were kind of thinking that maybe you were free to come along with us?” Pepe asked.

 

All eyes turned on Cristiano. In the spotlight, he could only smile while his mind raced.

 

He couldn’t do this. Shouldn’t. He was a man with responsibilities now, with a son and his mother at home waiting for him. A business to get back to, odd jobs to be done around the office and the house.

 

He opened his mouth

 

Kaka was still staring at him, wide eyes now very still. Poised for something, even though his body was relaxed against the headboard of the bed.

 

and Cris said

 

“Fuck yeah. When do we leave?”

 

Marcelo jumped to hug him, Pepe and Sergio were shouting and sloshing around beer. And Kaka, wordless, dropped his eyes to take a sip of his beer.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Cristiano whistled when he saw the truck. “You a businessman now, Marcelo?”

 

“Hell fucking yeah. I saw a market and I tapped it. Fresh organic fro-yo with pro-biotic properties. Boosted with vitamins, gluten free, and a great source of protein. It’s like, all the superfood trends rolled into one. Plus when my cousin DJ’s and Kaka sings, it’s like a huge fun block party. Plus it’s big enough to take all of us to Myrtle beach.”

 

The mention of Kaka stung a little, but Cristiano kept a smiling face. “So he still got the pipes, huh?”

 

“Oh yeah, definitely. There’s a producer who’s been sniffing around the club for ages. I think now that Kaka’s free, he might finally sign him. Plus you know, I think Kaka’s a little soft on him. Win-win situation.”

 

Cristiano swallowed. “Yeah. Everyone wins.”

 

* * *

 

 

By the end of the day, the truck driving up north on the highway to very loud strains of disco, Cristiano was re-thinking his life decisions.

 

Somehow he was on a truck with four other, loud, sweaty men, and even with the AC on, the heat was still sweltering.

 

When he had called home to tell his family the news, his brother had no words for him but a very, very long sigh of Disappointment. His older brother was irritatingly good at that. At least his mother had been more understanding. She had urged him to relax with his friends, and enjoy himself for once. Junior, in contrast, had shouted how unfair it was that Dad left without him for five minutes and had even gotten teary on the phone, asking him to come back and take Junior with him. That was a hard conversation, and left Cristiano filled with guilt after that call. His son may have pretended to be a big boy who didn’t need his father at home, but the truth was him and Cristiano had never been separated for even a day since Junior had come home with him. Underneath Junior’s tough act was the same sweet baby son who still needed his dad, and where was Cristiano? Going to Myrtle Beach to drown in dollar bills without him.

 

Cristiano had pulled out Junior’s teddy bear, a brown, well-loved stuffed animal with big sad eyes and a silky brown ribbon. He rested his head against it, trying to commune to it, and to its owner, that he really did love Junior, and was also not the worst father in the world for abandoning his son to go to a stripper convention.

 

Oh my God Cristiano was the worst father in the world.

 

A hand suddenly clapped down on Cristiano’s shoulder, cutting off his thoughts. “Cris, what are you doing? Is that your bear?” Sergio asked.

 

Cristiano groaned. “No, it’s my son’s.”

 

The truck was suddenly dead silent. Cris looked up to see everyone staring at him. Marcelo spoke first. “You have a kid? With Irina?”

 

“No.” Cristiano didn’t want to get into the sordid details of the past two years. He was still sore from the breakup. So he skated the issue of Irina, saying “Junior’s mine, from a girl before Irina.”

 

“Oh….wow.” Pepe managed. “Your girl couldn’t have been happy with that.”

 

“She wasn’t.” Cristiano admitted. “But his mother’s going to school in another country and asked me to take him. I didn’t know about him before, otherwise you guys would have met him.”

 

“I didn’t know that was your son on the phone.” Marcelo said gently. “I was wondering why you seemed upset.”

 

Cristiano groaned again to bury his face in the teddy bear with sad (accusing) eyes, when suddenly it was yanked out of his hands. He looked up to see Sergio holding it by an arm, determination in his eyes.

 

“No Cris. You’re not coming with us just to mope. Like if you’re going to be here, be here, you know? I know just what you need too.”

 

Cristiano glared at Sergio. “No.”

 

“We.” Sergio emphasized. “Are going. To Bloody Mary’s.”

 

* * *

 

 

Bloody Mary’s

 

was the _best_ idea ever.

 

“I just want to say that I love you so much, like, there was a hole in me when you left, but now that you’re here, you filled it again.” blubbered Sergio into his shoulder, smelling like Smirnoff and Axe Body spray.

 

Cristiano probably didn’t smell much better, probably like vodka and tomato juice. But he felt the love, this pure energy running like a current between him and the group, hugging each other and laughing and talking about…barely legal paralegals? Whatever.

 

“I love you so much too,” Cristiano slurred back, rocking into the hug, which Sergio was leaning too much into like he was about to topple over. “I really, really do. This was such a great idea.”

 

“Right? You love me. Love me soooooo much.” Sergio blathered on.

 

Kaka spoke, for the first time that night while staring at the stage. “Cris always loved filling holes in other people.”

 

Sergio howled in laughter, but Cristiano didn’t smile at that remark.

 

Sober Cristiano would have probably ignored that remark, pretended he didn’t hear. But drunk Cristiano wanted to show off. He was with friends, he was on a road trip, he was five drinks in, and Kaka and him had a weird vibe. And he. Was going to fix it.

 

“All right, Kaka. You wanna talk about holes? Why don’t we do this right,” Cristiano pointed at the stage and nearly knocking off his glass “and why don’t you follow me down the rabbit hole, Alice?”

 

No one seemed to really get Cristiano’s meaning. (He honestly didn’t either—it had made a lot more sense in his head) But when he lifted up his snapback, and turned it backwards on his heads, then everyone understood, and started shouting encouragements.

 

“DANCE OFF DANCE OFF”

 

Cristiano managed to stumble up, liquid in a rolling glass, on the steps to the stage. But as soon as he lifted off the top step, he visibly concentrated, and his movements grew fluid. Walking down the stage in a fluid gait, he paused for a moment in the bright lights, making sure to catch Kaka’s eye

 

and began to vogue, first a movement with his forearms, then uncurling to his upper body. Finally the hips, movements crisp and devastating.

 

And the final fall with the bass of the music, a drop backwards that shook the stage microphone off, done so cleanly it would have made any seasoned drag queen cry. And the lift up, with the pop of the ass, that brought the house down.

 

Cristiano remembered afterwards a wildly cheering crowd, Sergio up on the stage, then Pepe, mimicking putting on lipstick with a compact. Marcelo striding down the stage, somehow finding castanets and a head rag and sashaying his way down. Kaka still in his seat, still only looking at Cristiano, but now with definite emotion. Something like anger, something like longing.

 

Management threw them out after that, but the emcee followed them out to the beach, saying that was some of the best dancing she’d ever seen, along with a couple of giggly girls. Marcelo whipped up some fresh frozen yogurt and Pepe found driftwood to make a beach fire with. Cristiano sobered up quickly with a water bottle and a cup of dessert in his stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

“…I’m just saying, the world needs my invention. An invention that will stop tortillas de patatas from burning in the pan.” Sergio announced to the circle.

 

Marcelo snorted. “There’s this amazing device called an timer already.”

 

Cristiano got up quietly to go pee, and left the happy circle to make more fun of Sergio. He spotted some tall grass in a faraway corner on the beach, from the light of the nearly full moon out.

 

Stepping along the cool sand, ridged and dipped in the dark night, Cristiano nearly tripped over Kaka, sitting cross legged on the beach to face the waves.

 

“Shit, sorry.” Kaka was looking up at him, face again washed clean of emotion. His expression somehow irritated Cristiano. Somehow they hadn’t really had a chance to talk, this whole day, and the air was so strange between them. Cristiano could only think of what they used to be, and his heart ached.

 

“Ricardo.” He said.

 

Kaka slowly unfolded himself, and stood up straight. He was every bit as tall as Cristiano, and he stared back at Cristiano, waiting.

 

Cristiano swallowed and tried again. “Ricardo. Are you… all right?”

 

Kaka laughed, a small unamused sound. “All right? What’s there to be unhappy about?”

 

“I know…I know I left things between us badly. I didn’t handle it well. I should have talked to you in person. I should have kept in touch with you. With everyone.”

 

“Kept in touch? Oh, like we’re dogs waiting around for scraps of your attention, whatever you can spare from Irina?” Kaka shook his head in disbelief.

 

Cris bit his lip. “Ricardo, I’m sorry. I’m very sorry I hurt you. I never wanted you to be hurt—“

 

Without warning, Kaka shoved him back, hard. Cristiano landed back on the sand.

 

“You have no right to even apologize to me. You left me, with no warning, not even a conversation about us and how you were planning to leave all along, with a girl on your arm and never looking back. Do you know how I felt when I got your message? Do you know how long I waited, thinking that no, Cris would never do this, Cris would never just leave me with a single phone call, leave everything that we made together?”

 

Cristiano couldn’t do anything. He absent mindedly brought his hand to his mouth, to soothe a strange itch, and it came away wet with something dark colored.

 

“You don’t get to come back, and have everything Cris.” Kaka was breathing heavily. His hand twitched by his side, an odd movement as if he was about to reach to Cristiano but stopped himself.

 

“Hit me again.” Cristiano leaned forward, to take Kaka’s limp hand, more a gentle touch of fingers than a hold. “If it makes you feel better, you can hit me. I deserve it, God knows.”

 

Kaka sighed, a familiar sign of exasperation that made Cristiano’s heart leap, somehow. “We’re not cavemen Cris. I’m sorry for using violence. But hitting isn’t going to make me feel better.”

 

“I broke up with Irina.” Cristiano blurted out.

 

Kaka was silent.

 

“I proposed to her, and she said no.”

 

Ominous silence now.

 

“But it was a shitty idea, and it was two shitty years, honestly. As much as we liked each other, we weren’t really good for each other.”

 

_Not like we were._

 

More quiet. And then

 

“I’m with someone else.” Kaka said.

 

Cristiano’s stomach dropped.

 

“I’m thinking of moving to California with him.”

 

“Oh.” Cristiano managed. “Do you love him?”

 

“Yes. Very much.”

 

“Oh.” Cristiano said again. And then. “I wish you hit me instead.”


	2. Chapter 2

There wasn’t anything further to be said after that. Kaka excused himself to go back to the circle, and Cristiano watched him leave, his back disappearing into the distance.

 

Cristiano stood in a stunned silence, and would have the whole night, if he didn’t still have to pee.

 

Walking over to the tall grass nestled in a set of dunes, Cristiano thoughts wandered.

 

* * *

 

 

 

He remembered when Kaka and him had first gotten together. It was after six months of increased flirting and hours spent at the bar talking to each other about anything and everything. They both spoke Portuguese, which made it easy for them to crack jokes in practice as well as the club, as well as earning the irritation of the non-Portuguese speakers. Kaka was forever making fun of his Iberian accent, which Cristiano argued wasn’t his fault—his mother had taught him and she was from Portugal after all, even if he was born on swampy Florida soil.

 

Kaka had finally convinced Benitez to let him sing at one of his routines. Benitez, of course, ruined it by making him sing a song of his choice—some god awful eighties glam rock hit. Kaka’s voice still made the song sound unbelievable, and listening to him sing to a screaming crowd, Cristiano felt goosebumps.

 

Along with the conviction that Cristiano was going to tap that. Tonight.

 

Kaka had come back to his place easily, taking the offer as if he had been waiting for a long time. Cristiano was waiting on the bed, when Kaka emerged dramatically from the bathroom wearing nothing but the shimmery tight boxer briefs he had worn on stage. While Cristiano was dying of laughter, Kaka watched him, with a smile so bright and fond that the memory of it made Cristiano smile.

 

And Kaka opened his mouth, and began singing “Heaven” to Cristiano, and the pure sound of his voice stopped his laughter instantly.

 

(Cristiano had told him, three months back about how his first time went. “It was pretty awful.” He chortled, the bar raucous but Kaka attentive to every word. “The girl was pretty nervous, so I took my older brother’s mix tape he used whenever his girlfriend would come over. I figured some music would help set the mood, you know? Make it romantic, get the girl all happy, and I could finally lose my virginity. So the first song that played was Bryan Adams singing about younger years and lying in arms and shit. With the power guitar riff and everything. So she gets even more nervous, because I just put on a CD and it’s clear that I invited her over to have sex. So she just lies back on the bed, and shuts her eyes and tells me to take her clothes off myself, she’s just too nervous. I’m undoing her bra when my mom just BURSTS through the door, shouting and yelling. Turns out mama was hip to the fact everytime Bryan Adams sings in our house, someone was getting laid. She just assumed it was my brother until she looked out the driveway and realized his girlfriend’s car wasn’t there. I got grounded for like months, and that girl’s mom pretty much sent her to Jesus camp every summer after that.”

 

“Wow,” Kaka had replied, doubled over in giggles. “I’m sorry your first attempt was so lame. You need a do-over.”

 

Cristiano had shrugged. “That ship has good and sailed a long time ago.”)

 

Kaka walked closer, singing a line about how it wasn’t too hard to believe, and kneeling between Cristiano’s knees.

 

“I cannot believe this.” Cristiano said, putting a hand to Kaka’s face.

 

“You’re so unbelievably lame.” He finished, and Kaka beamed. “You’re gonna recreate my first time? Is my mother going to burst in the middle of this because I am not okay with that.”

 

“Baby it might not be the first time, but I’ll make it feel like it.” Kaka grinned.

 

“Oh my God, you’re a mega dork. Get out.”

 

“Nope, you’re stuck with me. Forever.” Kaka smothered his giggles into Cris’s thigh and Cristiano rolled his eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Cristiano was suddenly pulled out his memories by a bright blinking flash, followed by a shutter click behind him.   
  
He turned around from finishing his business, and saw someone trained on his back, a camera poised in their hands.

 

“Uh…that’s usually what happens when I pee on a beach.”

 

“Sorry!” The person chirped. “The moment was just too perfect to pass up. Hi, I do photography. Obviously.” He held up his huge camera, and though Cristiano didn’t know much about photography, the guy’s equipment looked really nice.

 

And whoever this boy was, he looked nice too. A boy about middle height, with a compact frame. Dark hair, and what seemed like dark eyes in the dim beach light. Lovely smile.

 

“Weren’t you taking photos earlier of people on the beach?”

 

“Yeah! I was taking pictures of some local performers at Bloody Mary’s. It’s a really interesting contrast of their costumes next to this beach, you know? The sequins and feathers next to this sand littered with trash and abandoned boats…But sorry, I didn’t mean to bore you with my dumb projects.”

 

“No,” Cristiano shook his head. “I totally get it. It sounds really interesting.”

 

The stranger smiled even more widely, and something in that open, trusting expression made something turn inside Cristiano’s chest. “When ‘Dude peeing on a beach’ makes millions of dollars, I’ll be sure to cut you a share.”

 

“Hey, if it makes millions of dollars, I’m down to pee anywhere and on anything.”

 

“Ew.” The boy laughed. “So, what’s your name?”

 

“My name? My name….is Magic Ronnie.”

 

“What? That sounds like a stripper name.”

 

“Well, I am a stripper, so it makes sense.”

 

“Oh really? Now that’s interesting!”

 

“Yeah, it’s a good life. Getting paid to dance around in a sexy fireman’s costume and a g-string on top of a pile of dollar bills.”

 

The other man laughed, adjusting his camera under his arm. “I’ve gone into the wrong field. So where are you headed to, Magic Ronnie?”

 

“Myrtle Beach. There’s a big stripper convention there this weekend. Gotta hustle for my g-string money.”

 

“Oh wow. Well, I wish I could see you there, but I’ll be in Madrid for the next couple months, or longer. Who knows?”

 

“Aw, that’s too bad.” Cristiano looked down, to shuffle his feet, trying to think of anything to lengthen their conversation. He seemed really cool.

 

“So…what’s your name then?” Cristiano said, grasping at straws.

 

“Hmmm….” The boy looked thoughtful. “My name….is J-Rod. I’m the next Latin American sensation ready to hit the charts with my dope beats.”

 

“Oh wow.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well if J-Rod ever wants to do a collab with a sexy fireman in a thong, he’s always open.”

 

“I’ll definitely keep note of that.” The boy smiled. “I gotta go work, but it was nice meeting you. Magic Ronnie.”

 

“J-Rod.”

 

And with that, the stranger with the camera walked off, and disappeared around the turn of a sand dune.

 

* * *

 

 

When Cristiano woke up the next morning, he peeled himself off the hot sticky seat of the van, and looked out.

 

Kaka was sitting on the doorway, looking out towards the sand.

 

When Cristiano gingerly stepped out, and sat next to him, Kaka didn’t say a word. But yet the air felt more peaceful, the still after a storm.

 

“I’m so sorry, Ricardo.” Cristiano said quietly.

 

Kaka sighed. “You don’t have to apologize. There’s nothing to be fixed.”

 

“No, I do. What I did was unbelievably shitty, and I hate that I ever hurt you like this. Like, I wasn’t in a good headspace after my dad passed away, and Benitez is still the worst little shit walking on the earth and I hated working for him, but still. You didn’t deserve this. And I’m glad you found someone that’s good for you. That’ll treat you the way you deserve.”

 

Kaka sighed again. “Well, there’s one thing to thank you for. My meditation was really clear this morning. Seeing you…it helped me let go of a lot of baggage I’ve had for the past two years. Now, I feel ready to move forward.”

 

Now it was Cristiano’s turn to sigh. “I wish it could have turned out differently…but I wish you all the best. I’ll always love you and wish the best for you. Always.”

 

Kaka smiled, the first real smile he had for the trip. “Thanks. I guess.”

 

* * *

 

 

The day took a turn for the worse after that though.

 

And it was all Marcelo and his damn moon rocks fault.

 

* * *

 

 

First of all, Sergio never handled his moon rocks well. He was antsy and boiling with energy when he was on them, and then the come down usually had him furious and trying to start fights with everyone.

 

In forty minutes after he took them, Sergio was rocking back and forth, convinced that his routine was a piece of shit.   
  
“I can’t go on my last stage doing this bullshit with a bullfight and cape! I’m so tired of this stupid costume and the way it gives me a wedgie! Like, I need something fresh, like I have to bring something new! God, what if I’m a shit dancer? Cris, am I a shit dancer?”

 

“No man. You’re so talented, like God if you had a different routine you would fucking knock the ladies dead off their feet, like totally.”

 

Sergio scratched his head frenetically. “Shit shit shit shit! I can’t come up with a new routine in only three days. Fuck!”

 

“Hey man.” Cris grabbed Sergio by the shoulders. “You can do this. I know you can do this. Here, let’s make a bet right now. Pepe stop the van!”

 

They stopped at a 7-11 in the middle of swamp fuck nowhere. There was a lone girl working front desk, typing away on her phone and oblivious to the world.

 

“Here. You see that girl? I bet that you, you can come up with a brand new sexy routine that will absolutely make her year. I know you can do this, okay? You got this! And if she, like, doesn’t even smile throughout routine, then I will do your fucking routine okay? In that bullshit matador costume and hat. And you know how much I hate your hat. And you can even have my snapback. Now come on, show her what you got!”

 

Sergio whined in terror, but Pepe and Marcelo pushed him through the doors.

 

Cristiano was honestly nervous the first minute watching an insecure Sergio watch the girl, and walk through the rows. But the moment Sergio began dancing, taking off his shirt, and touching his abs he knew Sergio was going to be all right.

 

And when Sergio grabbed the water bottle and made it rain in the 7-11, everyone pounded on the windows and cheered.

 

And when Sergio sheepishly asked how much the water was, and the girl smiled.

 

That

 

Was

 

Worth

 

Everything.

 

When Sergio walked out grinning, arms full with the water bottle and bags of Cheetos (his favorite) Cristiano put his snapback on Sergio’s head. “You earned it motherfucker.”

 

And added “I want it back though.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

Maybe it was more of Kaka’s fault. After their reconciliation that morning, it was ironic that he came the closest to killing Cristiano that afternoon, albeit accidentally.

 

He just had to insist on an energy circle, after he had sage smudged the entire van. He just had to insist Pepe, who was driving, throw an arm back to be part of the circle.

 

He just had to say that everyone had to close their eyes.

 

* * *

 

 

Okay, it was definitely Pepe’s fault.

 

BECAUSE HE ACTUALLY CLOSED HIS EYES.

 

* * *

 

 

At the hospital, the nurse told them Pepe had a grade II concussion, along with a broken rib.

 

Everyone else had come out of it relatively unscathed. Relatively. Cristiano had a nasty bruise on his thigh, and Sergio had hurt his shoulder again.

 

The van however, was totaled.

 

Marcelo took it well, saying at least no one was seriously hurt. But Cristiano could see the worry in his eyes.

 

Sergio was now whining in the patient bed next to Pepe, face buried in the pillow. “This is the worst trip ever. We haven’t got a ride, we don’t have Pepe, and we’re stuck in dumbfuck Atlanta. I hate Atlanta. It’s full of assholes who like peaches.”

 

Kaka, hovering above Pepe’s bed, shot him a look. “Sergio, you need to get your chakras realigned. Your aura has a lot of bad energy in your heart chakra and it’s messing with all of us. If you could be quiet for a minute, I’m using my quartz to heal Pepe.”

 

“Level three healer bullshit.” Sergio voice was muffled by the pillow. “You sound like a Warcraft nerd.”

 

Kaka thinned his lips, and Marcelo sat in a hospital chair. “Shit though. I really don’t know what we’re going to do though. I really don’t want to take a Greyhound to North Carolina.”

 

Cristiano sighed. A long, very deep sigh. Because it looked like he might be their only option.

 

“I might know a person who might help.”

 

* * *

 

 

When they pulled up to the mansion, Marcelo whistled. “Damn. Who is this person?”

 

“The name’s Rome. I don’t know if he’ll actually see us, so do a hail mary or something.”

 

The house was located deep in the countryside. The house was wide and gracious, and despite the remote location, there were a lot of cars parked outside of it. Many of them luxury cars too. The Spanish moss hung down heavy in the old oak trees surrounding the house.

 

Cristiano walked up to the bouncer, hesitance on his face.

 

He didn’t know what can of worms he was opening by coming back here.

 

But he had to try.

 

“Hi…I’m here to see Rome. I don’t have an appointment or anything, and I know I’m asking a lot. I’m just asking, if you could be so kind as to just get my name to Rome, and if he doesn’t want to see us, then I promise we’ll leave. The name’s Cristiano.”

 

After a few minutes of waiting outside, the bouncer came back, and motioned Cristiano in. He waved his friends back, to let them know to wait.

 

He walked up the familiar steps, past the other people who were waiting in the hallway. There was a girl in a bikini and heels, tucking her ankle under her chin in a thoughtful manner, and still men who followed Cristiano with their eyes.

 

Cristiano was finally in front of the door. He took a deep breath. Out. Then knocked.

 

A man opened the door, quite short. He had sharp eyes that wouldn’t quite meet Cristiano’s, flickering away as soon as they met. He was naked from waist down, showing off pale skin and a compact powerful body.

 

Cristiano slowly walked past the man, who opened the door wider for him.

 

And Zidane was standing in the doorway of the inner room, back towards Cristiano as he casually fitted his cuff to his sleeve.

 

Cristiano didn’t say a word. It wasn’t needed.

 

When Zidane was finished, he turned slowly, to consider the man in front of him.

 

He walked forward, a predator’s prowl, silent, but with the coiled power of a jungle cat. He stopped, only a foot away from Cristiano.

 

Cristiano couldn’t help himself. The old feelings, that he thought had long faded away, rushed back—the admiration, the need to submit, the itch of longing in his belly.

 

Before he could stop himself, he stepped in Zidane’s space, and leaned in to press a kiss on his mouth.

 

It was nice. It was familiar. Zizou, after a moments pause, pressed forward and changed the angle to open Cristiano’s mouth, fit his tongue into Cristiano like it was his right to.

 

Then Zidane suddenly withdrew, and his hand was firmly gripping Cristiano by his chin, up and away from him. He growled.

 

“Sit your ass down.”

 

Then he turned to the other man, standing silently by the door. “I’m sorry, but it appears I am engaged tonight. A ghost is a ghost, after all.”


End file.
